Red Glass
by lock shock and barrel
Summary: Flowers die, of course. Blood does not stain forever, not on the white carpet. But it likes to stain the photographs of some Godforsaken history.


**A/n: Edward Scissorhands is quite possibly the most amazing movie ever. And yes, old movies are my favorite. I own nothing, it all belongs to Tim Burton. And some other, less crazy people.**

**More Odysseus references? Madness.**

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In a way, he felt a bit guilty; killing flowers seemed a terrible offense. But the rose, in full bloom, deep crimson petals fully spread, was so intriguing, it was impossible to let it sit amongst the others. The flower now lay on the kitchen counter, waiting patiently as Edward inspected the cabinets to find where Peg kept the vases. It is fortunate that the patience of flowers is not worn thin, for Edward found it necessary to carefully examine the contents of each cabinet before moving to the next. Once a satisfactory vase had been discovered, Edward gently carried it to the sink. Most likely by chance, he had found a thin glass vase, easily held between his metal fingers, making his task all the more easy. The vase now filled with water, Edward placed the rose inside, smiling softly at its beauty. It is fortunate that flowers cannot complain. Of course, nothing dead can complain.

After much consideration, Edward decided that the rose would look very lovely indeed in Kim's room. With the utmost care, he took up the vase and walked slowly down the hall. How fortunate that Kim had left her bedroom door open, thought Edward, for he would have been very disappointed should he not be able to place the small gift in the girl's room. Each step was meticulous, as they always were, yet metallic clicks pervaded the silence within the house, always reminding him. It was all too easy to pretend that he was just like the rest of the family, but the always audible snipping and clicking held a heavy hand upon him, for he knew to believe anything else was simply a lie. To believe anything else would have the sirens singing him into oblivion; he could only bind himself and listen to their haunting song.

That was no matter now. Placing the vase on Kim's already crowded dresser, a thin smile tugged at the edge of his lips. Even in death, the flower was magnificent. In the corner of the mirror, he saw Kim resting on the bed, splayed out in a strangely delicate manner. But Kim was always delicate, and beautiful, and everything that Edward could never be. And never have. His smile slowly vanished, and he turned to leave. A soft sloshing and mumbling, chased by a shriek, tore his attention away from the rose and set him to flailing, gaining himself an amiable gash upon his face. The chaos subsided once Kim realized who it was that had caused the onslaught of chaos in the first place. It took her only a few moments to settle Edward down, as he could have been convinced to do anything by the girl, despite the pain he should have been in. Noting the open wound, Kim winced, but knew she ought to offer a bit of help. Though it took a great deal of willpower, she reluctantly mustered a "Do you want some help?" A shaky nod was given in response. Pulling a wad of tissues from the box on her vanity dresser, Kim hesitantly dabbed at the accumulating blood on Edward's face. At each whisper of a touch, Edward flinched, ultimately succeeding in smearing blood across the rest of his pale visage. More tissues. The box had been emptied, but red still tinted the poor creature's face. It would have to do for now. Thinking it wise to clean up the shears that had created the mess, Kim bunched up the bloodied tissues and took the scissors in her hand, meticulously wiping the blades. Scissors had never been of interest to her; they were such simple devices, children could use them. Yet these hands of Edward's, they were something different altogether, something unheard of, fantastical. She turned the shears over in her hand, feeling the cold steel beneath her own delicate fingers. Reality jolting her, she quickly dropped the metal hand, muttering apologies.

"It's alright," Edward returned flatly. "I can't feel it anyway."

He stalked out of the room.

Pale, pretty fingers tore at silky red petals, letting them fall.

Blood on the sheets as a broken angel hid the vices of two young lovers. Blood on the carpet from the angel's cheek.

A butchered flower could do no worse.


End file.
